


Hidden Talent

by silentdisregard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: For once Mycroft's meddling is appreciated, John has a secret, M/M, Sherlock's a persistant bugger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdisregard/pseuds/silentdisregard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a hidden talent. Sherlock knows it's John...it's the only possible solution. One which also makes them see each other a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was my first fanfiction. Hope you like it! Originally posted on FF.net, then tumblr.

Finally, the case was over. This had been a particularly tough one, taking Sherlock Holmes five days to solve. Although, the delay hadn’t been his fault. The criminal was slippery, constantly on the move, and had a gang for backup every time. John Watson was just happy that they could finally get a good sleep and eat an actual meal. As they entered their flat, they went their separate ways-Sherlock to his room down the hall and John to his room upstairs. John had changed into pajamas and gotten in bed when he heard something odd. Straining his ears, he realized it was coming from Sherlock’s room just below. It sounded like….bed springs? John realized Sherlock was tossing and turning. “He can’t sleep,” he whispered. As soon as it was out, John was glad Sherlock wasn’t there to say something about his obvious comment. The doctor heard a quiet, exasperated sigh, then a groan. He threw back the covers and carefully walked downstairs, making sure he didn’t make the slightest sound. He saw what he was looking for on the window sill, exactly where Sherlock had left it yesterday. Smiling slightly, he picked it up, hoping Sherlock wouldn’t be angry.

Sherlock couldn’t sleep. He was bone tired, could barely keep his eyes open, but sleep was playing hard to get. He tossed several times, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing worked. He sighed, flopped onto his back, then groaned. “Why?!” he whispered harshly. He tried to count sheep, but got bored. Then, he froze. He was hearing violin music. “What the hell?” he asked. Who would be playing the violin at midnight? “Not Mycroft, he’s not here and he wouldn’t touch my violin even if he were. Not Mrs. Hudson, she’s sleeping. So, John? I didn’t know he played.” John was the only logical conclusion. Sherlock slowly realized his eyelids were becoming increasingly harder to keep open. He fidgeted a bit, getting comfortable, and then succumbed to the violin’s hauntingly beautiful melody and to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock walked into the main room the next morning, he took a quick sweep of the room. 

“Morning Sherlock,” John’s voice came from the kitchen, along with a surprisingly appetizing smell of pancakes. 

“Mm,” was Sherlock’s response. He made his way to the window, cataloguing everything about his violin. Exact same position, no finger marks, no shift of dust. “John?”

“What is it?” John entered the room wiping his hands on a towel.

“Thank you for last night,” Sherlock stated. He looked at the shorter man, noticing that he was completely dressed. He looked down at himself and felt a strange feeling as he saw that he was still in his pajamas. He banished the feeling from his head as he got a reply.

“Last night?” Sherlock looked at John. The doctor looked completely confused. 

“The violin. It helped me get to sleep last night.” John’s face just became more confused.

“What are you talking about Sherlock? I didn’t hear the violin last night. I was asleep.”

“I know you didn’t hear it. You played it. It was a lullaby. Speaking of which, was it an original? I’ve never heard it before.” John walked over to Sherlock and put his hand on the taller man’s forehead.

“Sherlock, are you feeling all right? You must have been hearing things last night.”

“No, it was you!” Sherlock swatted the hand away from his face. John played the violin last night. Sherlock knows he did. “There’s no other explanation.” John sighed.

“Sherlock, as much as I wish I could, I don’t know how to play the violin. You know that. I’ve never been musically inclined like you. Besides, why would I touch your violin?” John took a deep breath and his next words came out in a rush. “Honestly, even if I were to play your violin, it would be a complete disgrace to it. You play so fantastically and I would just ruin it. Or break it.” Sherlock just stared. Did John really feel that way about himself? Making up his mind, he walked over the instrument in question, picked it up and handed it and the bow to John. “What is this?”

“Play. I know it was you last night. Just play. Just try it. For me?” Sherlock asked. Before he had even finished asking, John was shaking his head. Sherlock was becoming frustrated. 

“Nope. No way. Absolutely not.” John got up and made his way back to the kitchen. “Like I said, just touching it would shame it. And trying to play it would be a complete embarrassment.” Sherlock decided to drop it-for now. He knew he was right. The only other possibility was a ghost and the detective scoffed at such a thought. 

“Fine. But just so you know, it wouldn’t be a shame for you to play it. And…you have my permission to play it whenever you so choose.” Sherlock had turned back to the window and put the violin under his chin. In this position, he missed the smirk on the doctor’s face. Sherlock knew, and John knew he did. But he didn’t have proof. And John was going to keep the charade going for a while. Besides, if Sherlock knew he could play, he would never hear the end of it. It would be one more thing that the man was right about, and at the moment, he didn’t need another ego boost. John shook his head and went to grab the milk from the refrigerator. 

“Of course not. Sherlock? I’m going out. We need milk. I’ll be back, the pancakes are done so help yourself.” He didn’t get an answer other than a few long notes from the violin. Smiling again, John put on his coat and left.


	3. Chapter 3

When John came back an hour later, he could hear the music the moment he stepped through the door. He made his way quickly up the stairs and walked in on Sherlock, still in his pajamas and blue dressing gown, facing the window, with the violin perched under his chin. John listened for a moment, then realized Sherlock was trying to play the lullaby from last night. After a few wrong notes, he went back to torturing the poor thing, and then gave up.

“No, no, no! It’s all wrong! What was that bloody song?!” he shouted. 

“Erm, Sherlock? You ok?” John went through to the kitchen, noticing that the food was all gone and the dishes actually put away.

“Hmm? Yes. Fine. This stupid thing,” Sherlock started to mutter to himself. After putting the milk away, John came back out to take his coat off. 

“What are you playing? An original?” he asked.

“I am trying to remember the song from last night. The one that the ‘ghost’ played? But of course, because I was falling asleep, my mind can’t remember all of it. Damn thing.” Sherlock was still turned toward the window, so he didn’t notice John’s shaking shoulders and hand covering his mouth to stifle his laughs. After a moment, John was able to speak calmly.

“Why don’t you stop? ‘It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams,’” he quoted.

“But it wasn’t a dream! And you know it,” the detective muttered. Suddenly, he whirled around and thrust his instrument out at John. “Play,” he demanded.

“I told you Sherlock, I don’t know how.”

“Then I’ll teach you.” With that, he smirked and walked over to John, forcing the violin into his hands. “Just trust me.” Sherlock’s grey eyes stared into John’s blue ones and John found himself nodding almost unconsciously. He knew he was going to have to focus on pretending like he didn’t know what to do. Sherlock was a genius, nothing escaped him, and John wasn’t sure if he could pull this off. And when Sherlock moved around so he was front to back with John, pressed in close, the doctor knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Just focus. Breathe. Ignore it. John took a deep breath and called on his years in the army to make his face blank while his mind ran around in confused circles. This was going to be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so my computer really doesn't like me today. Thank you for letting me know that chapter 3 was double posted! I appreciate it! Anyway, I think I fixed it, I'm still really new to working AO3. Enjoy!

“Let me show you,” Sherlock said. His hands closed around John’s and brought the violin to rest under the shorter man’s chin. This movement also brought Sherlock flush against John, something that brought warmth rising to the doctor’s face. Sherlock positioned John’s fingers so that they formed a chord and brought the bow up to rest on the strings. Slowly, they fumbled through a few notes, John making his fingers clumsy and hesitating on purpose. This isn’t working, he thought to himself. He knows, he has to know. But if he did, Sherlock didn’t show it, continuing to position John’s hand and help him play the instrument. Suddenly, John felt a weight on his shoulder. Sherlock had put his head down on it to see better, and the touch made John suddenly hyperaware. The feel of Sherlock’s hands on his as they played the violin, the way that Sherlock was so close John could feel the other man’s heat and his chest rising and falling. John’s nose became full of Sherlock’s smell-how had he never noticed how good the other man smelled before? He could hear both their heartbeats; John’s was now pounding and he realized he was breathing too heavily for what they were doing. What is going on? John asked himself. His hands clenched around the neck of the violin and the bow, freezing their progress.

“John? What is it? What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked. God, that voice. That deep baritone that sent shivers down John’s spine. Wait, what? What’s happening? “Are you ok?” 

“Stop talking,” John whispered weakly. He felt weird, dizzy and too warm. Sherlock let go of his hands, and John felt cold and deprived. He spun around, his eyes landing full on Sherlock’s lips. The way his heart was beating and the way he was breathing, John was starting to become slightly worried about a heart attack. However, all that was immediately replaced when Sherlock opened his mouth again.

“John. Look at me.” He complied, his eyes becoming drowned by beautiful grey ones. 

“Sherlock,” he breathed. John was suddenly completely overwhelmed by a desire to find out what the detective tasted like. He wanted to wipe that infuriating (sexy) smirk off his face (which, presently, was being replaced by a worried frown). I wonder if his lips are as soft as they look, he thought as his eyes drifted lower again. Then, somehow, the spell broke. John realized how close they were, how his body was about to betray him, and how it already had. John’s eyes, wide with shock and embarrassment, snapped up to meet Sherlock’s, which were narrowed in worry and confusion. John’s mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times before he managed to get something out. Something that only added to his humiliation.

“I’m not gay!” he shouted. Oh my God. Get out now. With that, John whirled around, stopping only to place the violin on his chair, grab his coat and phone, and absolutely ran out of the flat. Sherlock just stood there, completely bewildered, and slightly warmer than he knew he should’ve been. 

“What just happened?” he asked the flat. The flat didn’t reply. “Figures.” Now what was he going to do all day? He looked at the wall. The smiley face taunted him. “You’re on,” he told it. Besides, John wouldn’t be home for a few hours, Sherlock had plenty of time. But as he crossed the room to get John’s gun, he asked himself why he wanted John to come back now. And told himself the question needed further investigation-after the smiley face.


	5. Chapter 5

After he dealt with the face on the wall, and then, unfortunately, cleaned up the mess, Sherlock lay down on the couch to think. He closed his eyes to recall with perfect clarity the earlier incident. He had just set his head down on John’s shoulder when the man reacted so surprisingly. Why had he acted like that? Catalogue it, Sherlock. He told himself.

“Posture rigid. Breathing much heavier than normal. Increased heart rate. Loss of words. Heated face. Pupils dilated.” Sherlock tried to piece all of this information together when suddenly, it hit him. “Oh my God.” They were symptoms he had seen before, in Molly, in The Woman, in Sarah when she had been with John. And now, John was experiencing them. There was only one logical conclusion. “John…is in love…..with…me.” Sherlock’s mind went into overdrive. He got up and started to pace. He recalled every moment from the past month where John had acted strange or done something weird. It all added up now. “John Watson is in love with me. John loves me. Me!” Then, Sherlock froze, stopping in the middle of the room. And how do I feel? He asked himself. He started to catalogue everything about himself. “Breathing-labored. Heart rate-increased. Face-heated.” He then swung his head around to look in the mirror above the mantle. “Pupils-slightly dilated.” Then, the realization hit him and he sank onto the couch. “John loves me. And I love him, too. No, not possible! I’m a sociopath for God’s sake! A high functioning one at that! And I’m a genius! John is normal, ordinary.” As soon as the words were out, Sherlock wanted to take them back. Yes, John was normal, but never ordinary. He was kind, human, an anchor for Sherlock. He was everything. “And he needs to know. Now.” Sherlock jumped off the couch, stepped up and over the coffee table, made it to the desk, and had just reached for his phone when he heard a light step from behind him. John. Sherlock whirled around, a smile beginning to show on his face, which immediately turned into a scowl as he took in the person before him. Not John. Obviously. Bloody hell. What now? The person standing before him in the finely tailored black suit was one of the last people he wanted to see right now. At least Sherlock had finally gotten dressed. He took in the black umbrella, which just seemed to mock him. When Sherlock spoke, his voice was icy venom. 

“Hello, Mycroft. Off the diet, I see.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Still on it, actually. And doing rather well.” Mycroft’s voice remained icy calm. He walked into the room and sat down on John’s chair. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you want?” he demanded. He didn’t have time for this.

“To warn you,” Mycroft replied. Sherlock moved to pick up his violin, but was interrupted. “Don’t you dare. This is about John.” At the sound of the name, Sherlock spun around, forgetting the instrument. 

“What about him? Is he all right?”

“He is, for the time being, perfectly fine, albeit a bit overwhelmed with his newly discovered feelings. Be careful Sherlock. He is not some toy you can play with or some chemical you can experiment on. He is a person, an important person to his friends and to you.”

“Obviously. Why are you boring me with such trivial nonsense Mycroft? If that was what I wanted, I would’ve just turned on the telly,” Sherlock spat. Mycroft inhaled deeply, the only outward sign of how irritated he was becoming. 

“Be careful with him, Sherlock. You hurt him and you can be sure that he will have everyone on his side. You will be alone. They only tolerate you half of the time because of him! John is your protection.” 

Wrong, thought Sherlock. Again Mycroft, you are completely wrong. Because John Watson is so much more than that. All he said out loud, though, was, “You think so highly of him? Perhaps you do have a sentimental side, Mycroft. He’s my protection, you say? Do you care about me after all?” Sherlock spoke with a fake innocent tone, knowing full well that he was annoying his brother.

“No. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Caring is not an advantage. Not for me at least. For you, it just might be.” Sherlock now wore a look of real confusion.

“What are you going on about? Be clear or get out.” He didn’t like feeling confused. Especially not if it was because of Mycroft. 

“John cares about you. He may have just realized that, but it has been there from the start.”

“I think I would’ve noticed if my flat mate was in love with me for that amount of time,” Sherlock retorted.

“Not if you weren’t looking. I won’t mince words. You know you’re under surveillance. I worry about you constantly. I have seen the way John looks at you when your back is turned. I have seen the different expressions his face has formed, and I have seen the way you reacted because of them. You have both been attracted to each other from the very beginning. I don’t know how the two of you are just noticing these feelings.” Mycroft stood up and stretched. “Just be aware Sherlock. Several times John has been there for you. He has been the only thing keeping you from a mental institution or a prison. Don’t hurt him.” With that, Mycroft turned to walk out of the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Cheers.” Sherlock put his hands up just in time to catch something-a memory stick. “Sweet dreams, Sherlock.” Mycroft made his exit. Sherlock waited until he heard the door fully close before he bounded over to the desk. He plugged the stick in and waited for it to upload.

“Come on you stupid thing!” he shouted. He had never been one for patience. “Finally!” The video uploaded and as Sherlock played it, he realized it was footage from last night. At the moment, it was trained on a dark, empty living room. Sherlock could just make out the sounds of his tossing and turning while he had tried to sleep. After a minute, he heard another sound, so slight he had almost missed it. Suddenly, John appeared in the frame, making his way over to the window sill. “Where I put my violin yesterday,” he reported aloud. John paused for a second, making sure Sherlock was still tossing, before picking up the violin carefully, so as not to disturb any of the slight amount of dust. He elegantly positioned the instrument under his chin, formed a chord, and started to pull the bow across the strings. Sherlock was aware of the sudden silence coming from the area of his bedroom. As John played for a few seconds, Sherlock recognized the song. “The lullaby!” He jumped up, positioned his violin, and immediately started to play along with the recording, his mind quickly recalling every note. The sounds of two violins playing the same haunting song reverberated around the flat. Sherlock stood like that for a few minutes, staring at the recording of his John, and playing along with him. He was so absorbed in the music that he didn’t notice a tired looking army doctor walk into the flat. He didn’t notice when the doctor stopped, frozen to the spot as he took in the sight before him. Sherlock only returned to the present when he heard a sharp intake of breath. He instantly stopped playing, put down the violin, and paused the video. He then turned around. “John,” he said. “I know everything.” John’s eyes widened as he took in all the hidden meanings of that statement. His breath hitched, and he said the only thing his mind could come up with. 

“Shit.”


	7. Chapter 7

“John. Why didn’t you tell me?” Sherlock asked. John ignored him.

“How did you get that? Nevermind,” John glared at the not so hidden camera in the corner. “Mycroft. Nosy fatass can’t mind his own business, can he?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could play? Why did you lie this morning?” Sherlock demanded. John couldn’t meet his eyes. He was suddenly completely embarrassed and mumbled something unintelligible. “Do speak up John, I’m not Superman. I don’t have super hearing, and I can’t hear you.” Sherlock snapped.

“I was embarrassed, okay?” John burst out. Sherlock was shocked into silence for once. “You are amazing and fantastic and you play your violin so beautifully. I haven’t played since before I left for Afghanistan and, knowing me and knowing you, I would play something, muck it up, and you would make some snide remark about it. So I didn’t say anything.”

“But, when we first met, I told you I played. Why didn’t you say anything then?” Sherlock was trying to understand, he really was. He knew John was upset about it. He wanted his John to feel better about himself.

“What, and have it seem like I was trying to impress you? No,” John shook his head and looked at his feet, “I didn’t want to seem like that to you.” Now he looked sad and angry. Sherlock had to change that. 

“Well, you played fantastically.” John’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Out of curiosity, what song was that? I’ve never heard it before.”

“Oh, umm,” John’s ears went slightly pink. “It was an original. An impromptu, if you will. You couldn’t sleep, so I couldn’t sleep, so I made up some sort of lullaby.” Sherlock just stared. John had made something up? For him? Sherlock was seeing John in a new light-he had just found another missing piece of the puzzle, and he was enjoying trying to figure out where it went. “Why are you looking at me like that?” John fidgeted. Suddenly, Sherlock had an idea.

“Come here,” he said. John looked apprehensive, but obeyed anyway. Sherlock held out the violin. “Play.” 

John sighed. “Sherlock-“

“No. You don’t have any excuse. I heard you play last night, I just watched proof that it was you. There is no reason for you to decline. Please, John. For me.” John stared at the taller man. Sherlock looked both disgusted at having to say please, and timid, like he was afraid of John denying him. Did he just say please? To me? 

“Fine,” John found himself unable to deny that voice and that face. He took the instrument and positioned it, then took hold of the bow. “What should I play?” he asked.

“An original,” Sherlock replied quietly. John thought for a minute, looking nervous. Sherlock wanted to kiss that look off of his face. Just hold on, he told himself. John seemed to have thought of something, because he raised the bow, fixed his fingers, and started to play. Sherlock could do nothing but stand awestruck for a moment. The song was beautiful, full of emotion and passion with simple progressions changing into complicated rhythms. John’s face was the same, full of emotion yet serene and peaceful. Sherlock shook his head. He had to focus. John was too busy concentrating to realize that Sherlock was sneaking up behind him. He jumped when he felt a chest behind him and long hands covering his. He froze, the last chord echoing emptily around the room. 

“Um, Sherlock, what are you doing?” They were in the same exact position as before, and, like before, John’s body was reacting to the detective’s behind him. 

“Don’t worry, John, just play. It’s an experiment.”

“Experiment?” John repeated. “What kind of experiment?”

“Well, if you have to know…” Sherlock replied.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well, if you must know,” Sherlock sighed, “I want to compare playing styles. Yours against mine.” Neither of them had moved from their position-Sherlock’s hands felt like they were searing a mark onto John’s skin. It was distracting.

“Playing styles? What for?” John asked.

“Experiment,” Sherlock murmured, his lips almost completely pressed against John’s neck. His warm breath sent shivers through John. He couldn’t refuse.

“Okay,” he whispered. Without thinking, he started to play another tune, this time full of his current emotions; joy, anxiety, and nervousness. Sherlock caught all this, not to mention John’s labored breathing and racing heartbeat. If there was ever a good time, this was it. Sherlock tightened his grip, stilling John’s hands and cutting off the music. He spun the doctor around, took the instruments, and put them down on the chair. 

“Sherlock?” John asked.

“Experiment,” he stated. Confusion played across John’s face. His eyes moved over to the chair, then back up to Sherlock. 

“But you took the violin.”

“Different experiment.” John’s eyes widened as he took in Sherlock’s voice-it had gone deep and raspy. Then, John’s pupils widened, his breath caught, and Sherlock didn’t miss the glance John gave to his lips. Sherlock smirked, and John’s eyes snapped back up to meet his grey-green-blue ones. Now. Sherlock leaned in, his eyes starting to close. He was so close-and then he was stopped. His eyes snapped open, brows drawing together in confusion. He looked down-John’s hand was on his shirt, right over his heart. He looked back up and was surprised to see the confliction emotions flickering on John’s face. 

“Wait,” he ground out. Determination was the main emotion on the doctor’s face now. Sherlock felt the small amount of pressure John was applying to his chest. “I need to know, Sherlock. I’m not another bloody experiment; I don’t care what you say. If we’re going to do this, it has to be because you want to, really want to. Not for the love of science, or some crap.”

“I really want to,” Sherlock replied quickly, leaning down again. Again, he was stopped. 

“No, Sherlock. Think about this. Make sure it’s not something you’re going to regret. Think about it.” John kept his hand on Sherlock’s chest, holding him back. He stared at Sherlock while the other actually thought. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Sherlock’s expression never changing from its mask of stoicism. John suddenly became nervous-what if Sherlock decided he didn’t want this? What if he said no? John couldn’t look at him anymore and dropped his gaze down. He realized his hand had clenched around Sherlock’s purple shirt, wrinkling the fine material. He forced his hand to relax its grip, and instead, it went flat against the thin chest. John was surprised to feel the racing heartbeat under his palm. His eyes jumped back up to Sherlock’s, whose face was now set. 

“Yes.” He leaned down, one hand cupping John’s face, the other resting on top of John’s on his chest. John’s breath caught, just before their lips met. Oh yes, John thought giddily, his lips really are as soft as they look. The next moment though, John wasn’t thinking at all. That was because Sherlock had snaked his other hand into John’s hair and had closed the distance between them. All too soon, Sherlock was pulling back. “Yes, John. I want this. I know the consequences, and I don’t give a damn. Stay with me, John. I…..I love you.” The last part was whispered, and John felt like he was on cloud nine. 

“I love you too, Sherlock. Always.” They started to lean back in, both thinking similar thoughts. It’s about bloody time. I could get used to this, John thought. Maybe being a sociopath IS overrated, thought Sherlock. As long as it’s John. They both smiled slightly as they came together again. From now on, things would be different. In a very good way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos/comments/bookmarks/overall enjoyed this! It means a lot to me!


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